


Pretty Boys (Follow You Home)

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Series: 21 Days of Darcy Lewis Crossovers and AUs Challenge [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Darcy stumbles across something she wasn't supposed to see, Bond is a terrible houseguest, and Q is by turns terrifying and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boys (Follow You Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 for a tumblr challenge: “So I kinda took this amazing still life of you while you were unaware and now I have to track you down so I can put the photo in my gallery" photography!AU

The National Gallery was freezing when Darcy stepped inside.  She pulled her sweater tighter around her as she queued for her ticket and picked up a map.  The receptionist made a face at the camera slung around Darcy’s neck—or maybe he was just scowling at her slouchy attire—but Darcy paid him no mind.  She had a job to do, and she was going to do it and get her ass out of there, ASAP.

Jane had told her where she wanted pictures: Darcy was to focus on shots that included paintings from 1700-1900, with an emphasis on early-to-mid 19th century pieces.  Darcy had no idea what any of this had to do with Jane’s planned exhibition, tentatively titled, “The Science of Art, Architecture, and the Creative Mind”, but she’d hired Darcy to take concept shots, and that’s exactly what Darcy would do.

From the entrance, Darcy hooked a right to enter Jane’s wing of interest.  There were thirteen rooms she could use, but Darcy made a beeline for one in particular: room 34.  She did this for two reasons: first, getting there would take her through roughly half of the relevant rooms, so she could do a quick scope of each one to see if where were any interesting shots.  Second, Darcy happened to know that her boss was infatuated with depictions of storms.  Based on Darcy’s admittedly limited knowledge about art—she had declared a major in political science, not fine art—and a few quick Google searches, she had decided that any shot she could get with J. M. W. Turner’s work in it would earn her high praise indeed.  There were several paintings by Turner in room 34, and so Darcy’s decision was made.

She breezed past Degas, paused briefly to look at the van Gogh and the Cézanne, then cruised past the Impressionists, some Italian stuff, and a handful of portraits.  A room filled with Hogarth stopped her for a moment as she began to put together the plot of a series of paintings, but she soon resumed her forward march.

Through some divine act, Darcy later thought, she walked quietly.  Otherwise, she might have upset the scene before her as she entered room 34.

Two men sat on a bench before a painting.  _J. M. W. Turner_ , Darcy thought.  He was the only one she knew of who painted ships like that.  The two men seemed to be regarding it severely, as if it contained the answers to the universe.  The man on the left was an older fellow, blond hair faded to gray and white at the edges.  The man on the right was obviously young, perhaps Darcy’s age.  His mop of unruly hair seemed to crown his head, and an oversized jacket ballooned around him.  The men leaned toward each other, as if in conspiracy.

Almost without thinking, Darcy snapped the picture.

All at once, the young man handed the older one a box.  It was opened and shut, and the younger man stood.  Darcy flattened herself against the wall of room 35 and peered ever so carefully around the corner.

The young man was standing now.  They were speaking, but Darcy had never had good hearing to begin with, and with adrenaline running through her veins, she could hear nothing.  All at once, the young man looked up and locked eyes with her.

Darcy felt her stomach drop, first because of the look he gave her, second because of the _look_.  How could someone could look so furious and so cold and be so attractive while doing it?  Darcy thought it unfair.  The older man turned to look at her.  The temperature dropped about ten degrees as eyes the color of glaciers bore holes through her.  Darcy shivered.  Why did they _both_ have to look so scary and so hot?

Belatedly, Darcy realized she was still holding the camera up as if she meant to continue to take pictures.  Confused and vaguely terrified of the men now, Darcy turned on her heel and bolted.  She went back the way she came, ducking past other visitors until she reached the main entrance, where she hightailed it as fast as her legs would carry her.

* * *

“You _what_?”

Darcy winced.  Jane was hard to anger, but explaining that she had taken all of one photo at the National Gallery pushed her over the edge.  They had met up at the apartment— _flat_ , the landlady had tried to correct them the first twenty times, only to give up on the “bloody Americans”—they were renting for the few weeks they would be in London.  Jane had wanted to take pictures on the Thames but had been foiled by inclement weather, and Dr. Selvig was still out doing God-knows-what.  The man had a reputation for being odd, and among the photo community, that said a lot.

“Some guys freaked me out,” Darcy said, slumping into a chair in the kitchen.  She had poured herself a bowl of cereal, and now she added some milk.  Running halfway across London had been a _terrible_ idea, but none of the cabs she tried to flag down would stop for her, and now she was starving.  “I should have asked them if they were okay being in a picture, but they looked so good there and—”

“You took a picture without their consent?” Jane asked.  She shoved a hand through her hair and sighed.  “Darcy, you know we can’t use those!”

“But it was a great shot!” Darcy protested.  “Plus, it’s not like you can use my pictures in your exhibition anyway.  They’re just inspiration.”

Jane ignored her to grab for the camera.  “Show me,” she ordered.

Darcy sighed and prepared to be eviscerated.  “You’re the boss,” Darcy muttered.

Jane switched the camera back on and stared at the photograph.  Darcy shut her eyes and waited for the worst to come.

“Oh my God,” Jane said slowly.

Darcy opened one eye, still wincing in preparation.  “What?  Did I do it wrong?”

Jane looked up from the camera, a look of shock and amazement written over her face.  “This is amazing!” Jane said.  The door opened, and Dr. Selvig, slightly windblown, stepped inside.

“It is?” Darcy asked, giving Selvig a wave.  Jane’s face didn’t move, nor did she turn to say hello to her colleague.  Darcy cleared her throat and said, “Oh, yeah.  It is.”

“You’re a good photographer,” Jane said.

Darcy frowned.  “Thanks, I think.”

“Of course she’s a good photographer, she’s your intern, isn’t she?” Selvig asked.  “Got any more of that?” he asked, pointing at the bowl of cereal.

Darcy took a bite and pointed at the cabinet while Jane said, “Well, she _is_ my intern.  Turns out there aren’t many interested photographers at Culver, though.”

“It’s a school for _science_ ,” Darcy said.  To answer Selvig’s questioning look, she said, “I study political science.”

“That’s not a science,” Selvig said.

Darcy glared.  “It wouldn’t be called political _science_ if it weren’t a _science_ ,” she said.  “Just because I happen to need art credit doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”

“Guys,” Jane interrupted, holding up her hands.  “Truce.  Darcy does political _science_ , we do photography, it’s all working out so far.”  Selvig poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down next to Darcy with a muted apology.  Darcy nodded briefly, but her eyes were fixed on Jane as she said, “We need to find these guys.”

Darcy nearly choked on her cereal.  “ _What_?”

“What guys?” Selvig asked.  Jane handed him Darcy’s camera.

“Oh,” he said.  “This is good.  And you took this?” he asked, looking to Darcy.  She tried to smile proudly around her mouthful of soggy oats and ended up dribbling milk down her chin.

“Did you catch names?” Jane asked.  “Were they talking?”

Darcy swiped at her mouth with her hand and swallowed before saying, “No, and didn’t you hear me?  They were _terrifying_.”  Jane wasn’t impressed.  “Plus, how are we going to find them?  London is huge.”

The doorbell rang, and the three fell silent.  Jane, who was the only one standing, marched to the door and peered through the peep hole.  When she looked back at Darcy and Selvig, her face was white.  Quickly, Jane unlatched the door and opened it just enough to look through.

“Hi,” Darcy heard her say.  “Can I help you?”

There was a muted male voice on the other end, and Jane said, “One second.”  She closed the door and returned to the table.

“There’s a man out there asking for you,” she said.

“For me?” Selvig asked.

Jane scowled.  “No, for her!”  She pointed at Darcy.

“What? How?” Darcy asked.  

“He has a picture of you standing in what looks like the National Gallery,” Jane said.  “A friend of you scary men, I assume.  Though he looks a little like the blond.”

“Hell no.  I’m not going out there.”

“They look official.”

“ _They_?  I thought you said it was a guy?”

Jane’s entire body dropped as she shrugged and sighed simultaneously.  “There _is_ a guy, but there are other people there, too.  I think we should talk to them and get this cleared up.”

“No way!” Darcy said.  She pulled out her phone.  “I’m calling the police—”

Darcy cut herself off suddenly as she stared at her phone.  “What?” Jane asked.  “What is it?  Call the cops!”

“No,” Darcy said.  “Look.”

She handed her phone over for Jane to see.  There was a message— _Please step outside_ —coupled with a real-time video feed of Darcy, Jane, and Selvig in the kitchen.

“I think you better go outside,” Jane said faintly.

Darcy shook her head.  “They’re going to kill me,” she said.  “I’m going to die for six college credits because I took one stupid photograph.  I can’t believe this.”

“I’ll call the cops,” Jane said.  “You just buy some time, all right?”  Darcy stood.  She couldn’t feel her legs.

Selvig stood, too.  “Jane,” he said.  “She’s an intern.  You can’t send her out there!”

“What do you want me to do?” Jane asked.

A new message came through on the phone— _Come to the door. Now._

“Okay!” Darcy shouted.  “Fine.  I don’t know what I did to piss these guys off, but I’m not scared.”  In reality, she was shaking quite literally in her shoes, but what was the worst that could happen?  Jane would call the police.  Everything was going to be fine.

Darcy swung the door wide open.  A very tall, very attractive man with very blue eyes stood on the doorstep.  Darcy gulped.

“You’re the man from the Gallery,” she said.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly.  “I believe we’ve met.  May I come in?”

“No,” Darcy said as he bodily stepped past her.  “Hey!” She risked a glance at the street before she shut the door.  A tall black woman in a stunning outfit stood talking to a short, balding man in a suit.  They all, Darcy could plainly see, carried guns.  “I didn’t do anything,” she called back into the apartment.

Darcy walked quickly into the apartment to find the man with the blue eyes sitting on a couch, looking at Darcy’s camera with interest.  Jane and Selvig had huddled together on the opposite side of the room, and they now looked to her.  Darcy made a face.  What was she supposed to do?

The man smiled as he closed the camera.  “I’ve been sent,” he said crisply, “to ask you a few questions.”

“Ask away, but seriously?  You can’t just barge into people’s apartments and take their stuff!”

The man’s smile tightened as if he were laughing at Darcy.  For all she knew, he was.

“Have you called the police?” Darcy asked Jane.  The woman was on Darcy’s laptop, hitting keys seemingly at random.

Jane shook her head.  “We’ve lost phone and internet.”

“How?” Darcy asked.  She immediately turned on the man with the blue eyes.  “What did you do?”

He said, “Oh, I didn’t do that.”  After a moment, he added, “My friend has a talent for technology.  He’s the one who found you here, after all.”

“Oh, so he’s the stalker and you’re the muscle,” Darcy said.

“Darcy,” Selvig warned, but Darcy was terrified and her mouth tended to run when she was frightened.

The man shrugged.  “Only when it’s a matter of national security, yes,” he said.  “But I don’t think you’re a threat.  Tell me, Miss Lewis, what do you do?”

“How do you know my name?” Darcy asked.  The man’s smile refused to go away.  “Oh, your friend.  Great.  What kind of lunatics put a dynamic duo like you together, anyway?”  After a pause, she said, “I study political science at Culver University in the United States, but you probably already knew that, you creep.  I’m doing a photography internship with Dr. Foster for six college credits to graduate faster.”  The man hadn’t looked away from her.  “Look, whoever you are, you freaked me out at the Gallery, and you’re freaking me out now.  Who are you, anyway?”

Jane hit her face with her palm.  “That’s right, insult the scary man,” she muttered.  Darcy grimaced as if the man couldn’t see her and shrugged.

“The name’s Bond,” the man said to Darcy.  “James Bond.”

Darcy scowled to mask her fear.  “Well, ‘Bond, James Bond’, you’re terrifying.  Do you blink?  Staring is rude, you know.  Just like pretty much everything else you’ve done since showing up.”

Bond laughed, and everyone else startled.  “I like you,” he said.  “I knew you’d be interesting.”

“Did you just?” Darcy asked.  “You and your friend followed me from the National Gallery because you thought I’d be _interesting_?”

Bond sobered most of the way, though the shit-eating grin remained.  “In part,” he said.  “Mostly, you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“What did I do?” Darcy asked.

“You saw something you shouldn’t have seen and photographed it,” Bond said smoothly, “and rather than ignore you, my colleague startled you, tipped you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t have been, and sent you running.  Honestly, that was one of the worst drops I’ve ever seen.”  His eyes glinted.  “Of course, if he hadn’t made a rookie’s mistake, I never would have laid eyes on _you_.  He was right about you; you are stunning.”

Bond’s eyes had drifted a little lower, and Darcy did the only thing she could think of: she picked up the cereal spoon that Selvig had been using—she wasn’t about to sacrifice her own spoon, thank-you-very-much—and chucked it at Bond’s head.

“ _Look up,_ ” Darcy seethed.

From Darcy’s laptop, a voice shrilled, “Bond, don’t just sit there and flirt.  Be done with it so we can get you on that plane and out of here.”

Darcy’s face flushed as Bond said, “You’re the first to say she was beautiful, Quentin.”  He gave Darcy a flirtatious wink.  “I’m not allowed to agree with you?”

The voice speaking through the computer didn’t reply, and Bond turned back to Darcy.  “Don’t mind him,” Bond said conspiratorially.  “He still has spots.”

“Please leave now,” she said.

Bond stood.  “Very well,” he said.  “I am glad you’re no threat to the nation’s security.  Pretty face like you has no place in custody.”

“I’m glad I’m not a threat, too,” she said.  “I don’t know about you, though.  Who are you, again?”

“James Bond.”

“No, who do you work for?  You’re not police.”

Bond smiled and did not answer.  “You’re free to do as you wish, Miss Lewis.”  He stood and began to walk away.  “I do hope you’re staying in London.  I should love to see more of you.”

Darcy’s face flushed darker.  “Well, if I never see you again, I’ll be pleased,” she muttered.

“Shame.  Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Yeah, will do,” she said.

“I should recommend that you don’t.  He’s a terrible womanizer and a fiend otherwise.”  Darcy whipped around as the computer spoke again.

“He’s only half right,” Bond called, already part of the way out the door.

“Go get on your plane, Bond,” the young man shouted at him.  “And bring my equipment back in one piece!”

Bond said something else, but Darcy couldn’t hear it.  She turned to the computer as Selvig went to the door to close it.

“Don’t stalk me any more,” Darcy said.  “And whatever you did to my phone, stop it.”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t a terrorist,” he said.  “And I don’t have spots.  For the record.”

“I’m not a terrorist, and I don’t care about your spots.  Who are you?”

“Q.  Bond called me Quentin, but I’m Q.”

“That’s a letter, not a name.”

“It’s my name.”

Darcy frowned.  “Well, whatever.  You’re going away now.”

“It was a lovely picture,” Q said through the computer.  “I’m afraid we can’t let you keep it.”

“How are you going to do that?” Darcy asked.  Jane just shook her head from the corner.  Darcy was speaking to man through a computer who had ostensibly turned off their cell and internet services without even being there.  He would find a way.

“Bond already took care of it,” Q said dismissively, “but you’ll understand if I keep a copy.  You will be suitably compensated, I’m sure.  I do hope you enjoy your stay in London, Miss Lewis.”

The computer said nothing more, and Darcy kicked a chair.  After a moment of silence, Selvig said, “Drinks.”

“Yes,” Jane said.

“Agreed,” Darcy added.

“You’re underage,” Jane said.

Darcy scowled.  “Seriously, Jane?”

* * *

Jane was indeed serious.  Darcy nursed an orange juice while Selvig downed shots and Jane nursed a violently pink drink that even the bartender had winced at the sight of.

“This sucks,” Darcy said, thumbing through her phone.  They had service again, at least, but her usual form of therapy—pictures of cats and funny vines—just weren’t cutting it.

About halfway through Jane’s second pink drink, Darcy got several emails in quick succession.  The first was from the bank—her student loans were officially paid off, it said, and they hoped she would continue to be a loyal customer.  Darcy’s eyes bugged out of her head.  The second was from Culver—tuition had been paid in full for the next two years, as had housing and the meal plan.  The third was addressed to Darcy, Jane, and Selvig—free admission to the National Gallery, amongst other galleries in the UK, plus several exhibits and events around the city.

“I take it back, this is pretty sweet,” Darcy said.  Jane and Selvig were both well on their way to being drunk on their asses, so they ignored her.  “Wish I could have seen the picture.  Figures, I took it and didn’t even look.”

Her phone blinked once, the screen going dark for a long second before an image appeared.  Darcy readjusted her glasses to see it better in the dark bar.

She laughed to herself.  “Hell of a picture,” she whispered.  “Thanks.”

 _You are welcome_ , appeared on the middle of the screen.


End file.
